Pawn no More
by Kefalion
Summary: James survives the night when Voldemort comes to kill Harry. He reflects on what he should do now. Things won't stay the same.


This story was written for the **13th** round of the Fifth Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as **Beater 2** for **The Wimbourne Wasps**.

Name of round: **Checkmate!**

Welcome to the last round before the finals!

Although I am not all that great at the game, I admire chess players for their use of strategy, patience and thinking. Many other people admire chess too, including Ronald Weasley, the king of Wizard's Chess.

This round, you will be playing a game of Wizard's Chess. Each position has been assigned a chess piece and coordinating prompt for which they must write. The chess piece MUST be used somewhere in your story, as either an object or word. Will you be able to say checkmate to your opposing team?

As Beater 2 my chess piece is a Pawn and I have to write about a character who is forced to fight for their family. And here are my extra prompts:

1\. (word) checkmate

5\. (song) Poker Face - Lady Gaga

8\. (colour) steel grey

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of the world J.K. Rowling has created; it's all hers, from Diagon Alley to Hogwarts to all the people living there.

 **PS.** Word-count provided by MS Word—

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 **Pawn no More  
** _Words: 1 058_

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The November sky was steel grey with patches of charcoal, promising rain later in the evening. The trees in St Jerome's graveyard were barren, the treetops reaching towards the sky like cast iron claws. The grass between the headstones was trampled by many feet, and it was left more lifeless than autumn and nights of frost could accomplish, broken and yellowing. The windows in the church were dark, gaping holes that didn't reflect any light.

The environment perfectly suited how James felt. Overcast, his sun veiled. Torn, his sharp edges exposed. Soulless, his insides as empty as the house of God. He held Harry's tiny hand, keeping the boy standing on his two little feet. Harry didn't understand why they were standing by one of the stones. He could not understand that his mother's body had been buried in the cold ground or that her name was etched in marble and filled in with gold, the dates accompanying it proclaiming a life that had been cut short, ended before its time. Harry was tired, and he was making small discontent noises that any minute might transform into wails.

The funeral had lasted a long time. The line of people who wished to express their condolences had been as long as the people in it had been insincere. James had kept a polite expression on his face though all he wanted to do was scowl and tell people to piss off. Most of them had never known Lily when she was alive; they hadn't been invited, and they were not wanted. For Lily's sake, because she wouldn't have wanted any funeral to be violent, James had kept his outward calm. No one had been able to read him—and Sirius claimed that he had no poker face. All they could see was grief masked in politeness; he'd played them. Albeit, it might have had less to do with James' acting skills and more to do with the fact that they didn't want to see his anger. Acknowledging his distress would mean self-reflection and maybe even realisation of their own poor natures.

When James had been crying over his wife's body, cursing his own incompetence, and suffering from survivor's guilt, leaving it to Sirius to see to Harry, the rest of their world had already been celebrating. To them, the death of one more innocent witch was nothing compared to the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. They honoured her sacrifice, but they did not care about the brilliant witch who was lost to them, the loving mother who had left a son behind, or the young woman who still had so much left to live for. They didn't care that James had lost the love of his life—she'd got him like nobody. They cared only about their own families and that they would be safe now.

"Ready to head back to mine?" Sirius asked from a few paces behind where he was standing with Remus.

Their roles had been reversed. Once, Sirius had come to James' home to stay permanently, incapable of standing to spend another night in his parents' house. Now, James couldn't stand to spend another moment in the house where Lily had died and he'd come close to losing Harry and his own life, too. He didn't plan on ever returning. That chapter of his life was over. He could not dwell on it.

"Things will change," James said, eyes remaining on Lily's epitaph.

Dumbledore had at long last explained why Voldemort had targeted them, why they'd needed to hide away using the strongest protective wards known to man—not that it had been enough. Harry had been one of two children potentially prophesied as capable of vanquishing the dark lord, and on Halloween, he'd been marked irrevocably as the chosen one. Dumbledore had also shared that he did not believe Voldemort was truly gone. He would be back, and when he returned, he would come after Harry again. James believed the Professor.

The scar left on Harry's forehead was ghastly. It didn't want to heal. It had stayed red and irritated, sometimes cracking open and bleeding anew, the impossible remnant of the killing curse. It meant that he would grow up to possess some power Voldemort did not know, but for now, Harry was only fifteen months old. His eyes were half-lidded as he fought exhaustion. His bottom lip was shiny with spit, and a spit bubble was forming at the corner of his mouth only to dribble down his chin before James could wipe it off.

"I'm done being a pawn," James continued, Harry now at his hip and resting his head on James' shoulder, burrowing closer for warmth. "I'm done listening and taking orders. From now on, I'll act on my own. I'll do everything I need, everything I can do, to keep Harry safe. Damn the consequences. It's not about good and bad anymore. It's personal. It's about family."

"I suppose this means that we'll be marauders for real, getting into the outlaw business," said Sirius.

James shook his head. Harry whimpered, and James stilled, speaking in a softer voice. "You don't have to do anything. I can't ask that of you. I can't ask you to break the law or put yourselves in danger."

"Don't be silly," said Remus. "We're with you, no asking needed. This time I'm not letting you shut me out."

"Yeah, me either. You're stuck with us. Can't trust you to mess up your kid on your own _and_ hunt Death Eaters. You need professional help for that, and I'm definitely qualified."

"Maybe for the first part," Remus said.

"Hey! I do know how to hunt Death Eaters; I've actually done that. Messing up kids is just something I think I'll be good at. 'Cause I'm marvellous like that."

Their banter wheedled out a smile from James. "Thank you," he said.

"Say that again when we succeed."

He nodded. They would succeed. He was no longer a pawn. Lily's death had queened him. He had new manoeuvrability. It would lead him to checkmate. He would fight for Harry. He would fight for his family, all of whom were with him there. Lily would be the last piece to come off the board. The game would be theirs. They would wipe the other side of the board clean.

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 **The End**

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 **A/N 25th November 2017**

Thanks to little miss xanda for giving me a plot. You're awesome.


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